A Series of Firsts
by Silverfyshxin
Summary: [One-shot] A few snapshots from the life of one Faramir. Not a FaramirEowyn, follows book canon. No Mary-Sue either ( I hope.) PG for safety.


Disclaimer: No characters that you recognize from the books are mine.

A/N: A Faramir romance without Éowyn. Follows book canon. I won't promise anything, but let's just say that things are not always what they seem.

* * *

**A Series of Firsts**

The first time Faramir met her, she had been in the middle of stuffing food down her brother's tunic. As his parents had pushed him off towards the room with no instructions on behaviour, he had seen no reason not to join in. So he had.

Their parents were horrified, to say the least, and he wasn't allowed out for a month. But it had been worth it when she had given him a cheeky grin in camaraderie when their parents weren't looking.

She had been five and he had been six.

* * *

His parents and hers were good friends, and as such, their children were often thrown together as playmates. Her brothers were as fun loving as Faramir was, especially his father's and uncle's namesakes, who often managed to get him into scrapes he probably wouldn't have gotten into on his own, though he often returned the favour. Her sisters adored him, and he was fond of them, but it was to her that he told his dreams, thoughts and fears.

* * *

The first time he told her about one of his favourite dream, he had been eight and she seven. 

"One day, I'm going to go to the sea and sail to Valinor."

She had immediately replied, "Then I'm coming too."

"You can't come."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because… because you're a girl, and girls can't sail in ships to Valinor."

She frowned in thought for a moment, then smiled triumphantly. "Then how come Elwing could sail with Earendil?"

"Because she didn't know when she was supposed to stop tagging along. Just like you."

He grinned as he sped away from her vengeful shout. Half the fun was in getting her angry. But he let her catch him anyway, just as he would let her sail with him when he went.

* * *

With the amount of time they all spent getting into trouble, it was no wonder that they each had their own share of injuries. Their mothers did not fuss overmuch, taking it as a normal part of childhood from which their children would grow out of in time.

* * *

The first time he broke his arm, he had been climbing the big tree in the field with her and two of her brothers. The three of them had clambered up like monkeys, while he struggled up behind them. She had been teasing him for being a slowcoach, while she sat on a branch, waiting for him. 

In his haste to prove her wrong, he had reached for the next branch and put his weight on it without testing it first. The last thing he heard before sinking into painless oblivion was her horrified scream.

When he had woken up, he had found his mother at his bedside with worried eyes, and a throbbing pain in his left arm. He had assured his mother that other than the pain in his arm, he was all right. His mother had called her in, whereupon she had blurted out a tearful apology.

"I never meant for you to fall, I didn't think you were going to, I thought you were dead when you didn't wake up and I was so scared, and I'm so sorry, I never meant—"

Faramir had stopped her in the middle of the rambling apology. "I know you didn't want me to fall. It was a bit of my fault too."

"But—" she had protested.

"I'm accepting the blame for something. Take advantage of the situation," he had said, trying to make her laugh and stop crying.

She had managed a watery smile. "You mean it?" she had sniffled.

He had nodded, relieved to see the tears stop falling. Her face always came out in red blotches when she cried. He hated that.

He had been twelve and she had been eleven.

* * *

His father had high expectations of him, and Faramir was disappointed when he never seemed to be able to meet those expectations. It wasn't that Faramir purposely set out to thwart his father's wishes; it was just that circumstance occasionally dictated that things ought to be done differently from what his father thought, such as a well placed apple tree when he ought to have been studying. His father rarely said anything about it, but Faramir knew all the same when he caught that _look_ on his father's face.

* * *

She was the first he ever told his fears to. 

"Father wants such a lot from me. I don't know if I can ever measure up to his expectations in any way."

"Of course you can. Your father _knows_ you're a good son."

"That may be, but sometimes I do things when I ought to be doing others, like last week, when I was supposed to go out riding with Father, I went with your brothers instead to sort out the one who was sniffing around your sister's skirts—"

"Don't be stupid, Faramir. Your father ought to be proud that you managed to scare off the idiot who was bothering Ellie. If anything, my brothers asked you to help, so it's partly their fault too."

"I didn't tell Father why I didn't come on time."

"You ought to! He'd be awfully proud of you. I know I am."

" I didn't do much."

"But you did help, and that's what counts."

He had scratched a stick in the soil. " I just don't want to disappoint him."

"You won't," she had told him confidently. "You couldn't disappoint him if you tried to, Far."

"Of course I could."

"Faramir, are you calling me a liar?"

"No, but—"

"No buts. Either I'm a liar or I'm not."

He had glared at her. She had known that he knew she had never told an untruth in her life. " You've never fibbed in your life."

"Glad you know it," she grinned. "Race you to the tree?"

"Oh, alright." He got up and helped her to her feet. "Go!"

He had been fifteen and she had been fourteen.

* * *

As he grew older, he and his friends often visited the pub. It was a great place to be in the evenings, and it was quite educational, at times. Or so his father justified it to his mother, anyway.

* * *

The first time he consciously thought about her as more than a friend, he had been twenty, and out with her younger brother. The thing about ale was that it tended to loosen inhibitions. This night, for once, Faramir had chosen not to have as much as Ham. On the few occasions that this happened, after a tankard or ten, amusing results had come to Faramir's ears. He liked to tuck these little incidences and information away for future use. 

"Lasses," Ham had said, waving his hand. He had finished three tankards or so.

"What about them?" Faramir had asked, taking a cautious sip from his tankard. Ham didn't usually succumb this quickly.

"They're b-be-be…_pretty_ t' look at."

"I have noticed that on occasion, yes." He didn't add that some of the prettiest ones around were Ham's sisters. He didn't think Ham had imbibed that much yet.

"Going t' marry one?"

Faramir had spluttered a little, when a memory of gold locks and a familiar grin crossed his mind. When he had composed himself, he said, "Ah, I'm not getting married _yet_, but in future, I do see myself wedding a lass. Not a lad."

His friend had waved it off, tankard in hand. Faramir had ducked out of the way before he got splashed. "I din't mean _now_. Jus' wan' t' know if you know which one your goin' t' marry."

Her face had crossed his vision again, but he had blinked it away. "N-no. Not really." _Now what's all this about?_ he had wondered.

Ham had jerked his head down once. "I do. Sorta. Y'know wossname… Milo, yesh, Milo's daughter, Flora? Her. On'y, she tol' me t' leave her 'lone t'day. Said she din't wan' t' as-assi-assia- mix 'round with my family."

"Ah, Ham," Faramir had gingerly patted his arm in sympathy.

"Wha's wrong wi' my family, Far?"

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with your family whatsoever," Faramir had told him firmly. "She probably thought you were of lower birth than her. She couldn't be more wrong. And don't you forget that, Ham. Our families will always be friends because of who, and not what you are."

Ham had opened his mouth to reply, and promptly had begun to spew out the contents of his stomach. Faramir had jumped hurriedly out of the way. "Though I will take exception to being a receptacle for your regurgitated supper."

He had managed to find a large water trough to heave Ham into, before sending his friend off home. He had wondered, as he wandered off in the vague direction of his own home if he had not had too much to drink himself; his mind had kept bringing up Ham's mention of marriage and her face together.

* * *

He noticed that his mind kept skipping on to her as the river of time flowed on steadily. How he cherished her unfettered laugh, her cheerful smile, her mischievous snigger. He also took note of how his stomach flipped when she grinned at him and how his heart seemed to twist when she felt sad. He told himself it was but a passing fancy, just like the passing fixations he had had on other lasses when he was younger. It didn't work very well. But as much as he admired her, he couldn't have borne it if he didn't have her friendship, so he let things continue on as naturally as he could and dared hope for nothing more.

* * *

The first time he had thought differently was summer when he had been twenty-three and she had been twenty-two. It had been summer and he had been under the Tree, thinking odd thoughts and puffing on his pipe (which, though good, wasn't quite the same as an old pipe that had been well broken in.) 

When she had plonked down beside him, he didn't bat lash, though his stomach had decided it was a good time to flip like a fish out of water.

"What is it with males?"

The angry snap in her voice had been enough of a normalcy for him to ignore. The waver in her voice behind the snap, however, had not.

"What's the matter?" he had asked, sitting up. He had given a start at the suspicious glimmer in her eyes. She hadn't cried since the last time he had broken his arm.

She had made a heroic attempt to keep her tears at bay. He had wondered if he ought to tell her that her red nose gave her away. "It was Carl, down at the end of the Row. He asked me if I would walk out with him."

"And?" he had asked, hoping she didn't hear anything unusual in his voice.

"I said no, obviously." He had felt his hands unclench and had stared down in surprise. He hadn't been aware they had clenched up. "Then he lowered his voice and asked me to please say yes, because his brother had bet him five gold pieces that I wouldn't agree and he didn't have that much."

He had been horrified. "The very cheek—"

"Am I so horrible, Far, that men have to be dared to even consider asking me to walk out with them?" He turned to see her blinking furiously to hold the tears back.

"Oh, come now—"

"I am, aren't I?" she asked miserably, and to his horror, tears leaked down the sides of her cheeks. "They all want Ellie, not Ellie's ugly baby sister."

"That's not—!"

"She whirled on him. "Don't try to deny it! I know I'm not attractive! I know I'm ugly and not at all like a lass ought to be. I know—mmph!" Faramir had given up on trying to argue with her, yanked her into his arms and kissed her.

* * *

After a respectable period of courtship, during which they weathered storms as well as bright spots, for she wouldn't quite be her if they never argued, he asked her to marry him. With several tears that half frightened him until she assured him that they were tears of joy, she accepted. 

Their families were overjoyed at the news, with her brothers both congratulating him as well as dropping dire warnings in his ears – both about recriminations for hurting her and her personal habits, which he already knew quite well and knew how to handle. Somewhat.

If he could trust his ears, he thought he had overheard her father saying something akin to "It's about time"…

* * *

Somehow, the days to the wedding slipped away quickly and, he was now twenty-five, with her being twenty-four. Wonder of wonders, he'd actually managed to put on his clothes properly. He'd heard his brothers-in-laws-to-be betting about which article of clothing he would appear without. Due to his state of nerves the night before, he didn't quite blame them. 

Ham popped his head in. "Are you ready, Far?"

"No," Faramir answered. "Let's go." He felt certain that if anyone cared to cut his stomach open, they would find a houseful of butterflies and a marvellous display of acrobatics within.

The ceremony was being held under the Tree. Faramir's heart gave a little jump when he caught sight of her, resplendent in her gown. Her eyes met his and he could see that she was almost as frightened as he was. His stomach calmed down a little at that; whatever happened, they would go through together.

She smiled a little shyly at him when he reached her. "You're even more beautiful than Luthien," he murmured, and grinned when a tinge of red coloured her cheeks.

His father stood in front of them and began to speak. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Faramir Took the first, son of our beloved Thain Peregrin…"

"Father!" Faramir hissed.

Pippin winked and cleared his throat. "…and Goldilocks Gardner, daughter of Samwise Gardner…"

* * *

As his gregarious cousin spoke, the Master of Buckland leaned over to whisper in the Mayor of Hobbiton's ear. "He forgot the 'beloved' in front of your name, Sam." 

"It doesn't matter," Sam replied.

Observing the half-joyous, half-knowing expression on his old friend's face, Merry's eyes narrowed. "You knew it was going to turn out like this, didn't you? Even that it was going to be under the Party Tree and everything. You didn't even blink when they announced their engagement. You _knew_, Samwise Gardner."

The former Ringbearer merely smiled. "Perhaps."

* * *

A/N2: There you go. A Faramir romance with no mention of Éowyn! 

What, you were expecting the Prince of Ithilien? Psh.

* * *

Notes:

Faramir was born in 1430 SR and Goldilocks in 1431. I took creative license with the date of the wedding, and if anyone could tell me the exact date, I'll change it.

Faramir's father's (Peregrin) and uncle's (Meriadoc) namesakes are Merry Gardner (born 1427) and Pippin Gardner (born 1429). 'Ham' is Hamfast Gardner (born 1432) and 'Ellie' is Elanor 'the Fair' Gardner, later Fairbairn (born 1421). All in all, Sam and Rosie had 13 children, the oldest being Elanor and the youngest being Tolman 'Tom' (born 1442). (Sam became known as Gardner as the years went by, and the name stuck. '..._Samwise the founder of the family of **Gardner**, later famous and influential.' -The Return of the King, Appendix C_)

'Flora, daughter of Milo' is not canon, though Milo is. He's mentioned in FotR, among Bilbo's guests.

Carl is a hobbit name. It's been used by Tom Cotton (Rosie's father) for his youngest son. This Carl is not a Cotton, but I don't know which family he's from either. And the Row is Bagshot Row, for those interested.

For the record, Pippin was not disappointed in his son. He just didn't want to say anything for fear he might decide to tell him little secrets of his own childhood, and Diamond had expressly forbidden that.

As to the last bit about Sam, I think foresight is a gift/curse of all the Ringbearers. Other times it has been bestowed on the Children of Iluvatar was because they had been specifically chosen (Eg. Glorfindel) or only in special instances (Eg. Finrod). That's why Frodo, at the end, was able to tell Sam about his future children, though he didn't list them all (wouldn't have made it off Mithlond if he had).

All information taken from the Appendices (mainly Appendix C) of _The Retun of the King_, as well as some from _The Silmarillion_.


End file.
